


A Job Done Right

by LadyLuckDoubt



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Blackmail, Con Artists, Hotels, M/M, Money, Opulence, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme, Revenge, Smut, rarepair, sex lies and videotapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:52:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLuckDoubt/pseuds/LadyLuckDoubt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Redd White and Richard Wellington both being hedonistic conmen and enjoying each other and a very plush hotel room in between their lives of scamming and blackmailing people. Including one another, of course. </p><p>This occurred, in my mind, sometime pre-2-1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Job Done Right

**Author's Note:**

> _Redd White/Richard Wellington_
> 
> _in a fancy-ass hotel room_
> 
> _on a bed covered in money._
> 
> _you know they could afford it~_
> 
> This was one of the first things I _ever_ wrote for the Kink Meme, and I was intrigued by both characters when they showed up, and they seemed to dovetail so perfectly into one another's worlds both being con-men with inflated egos. Richard, though, is younger and cuter and probably looks like a bit of a pushover to someone like Redd... though I love the idea of powerfucks and things not being what they seemed...

It had been like a heist or an ad hoc business operation. There had been weeks in advance, planning and selecting the perfect team, and when the final moments came, and they pulled off the ultimate scam, Redd White could only stand back and admire his handiwork, like an arsonist with a distant hillside vantage point watching the flames rise.   
  
Pity there was going to be some collateral damage, some people were going to go to court, be found guilty, and most likely get themselves into a _lot_ of trouble. He was sorry to lose a few of them, they'd been good team members, a couple of them were old guys from back in the day— back before White himself had served time.  
  
But for the moment, he didn't care. The setup, the scheme, it all wouldn't go uncovered for a few weeks at least, and when it did, they'd be long gone.  
  
And better yet, he now had a nice little accomplice: pretty, well-dressed, well-spoken, insanely confident and perfectly cunning Richard Wellington.

Wellington had served his uses, too, but White hadn't been too enthusiastic about the prospect of turning him aside as a neccessary sacrifice to the operation. For one thing, the young man was a smart learner and a swift talker. For another, he possessed skills no one would dare place on a resume, but he could effectively use his mouth in _other_ ways in order to get a sale.   
  
And the beauty of that plan was that it involved a level of blackmail: investors might sob about their lost millions and the shysters who talked it out of them, but they'd be far less likely to remember the details, and hopefully too embarrassed to mention the cocky young man who'd slipped under the table to provide some more incentive to encourage the business "partners" to part with their money.  
  
The plan was gloriful, and Redd knew it. It was a twinge shyster business, nice and conservative, and yet it had the added kink and ridiculousity of sex— and it allowed Richard Wellington a chance to exploit his talents in a way that he enjoyed.   
  
All in all, Redd White had to admit, it was nothing short of perfect.

 

 

Dan Berlow had been one of the ones who'd been let go. No one had spoken to him since he'd been set out and set up; and Dan only knew about a small section of the scheme so he'd— unfortunately to the police and for _him—_  not been able to reveal much when he'd been pushed out into the wilderness.   
  
He'd known Redd White was up to something, though: a con artist is an expert at reading other people, and he had the advantage of having known Redd for years: he knew where the older man's weaknesses lay, and he knew where his vulnerable points were.  
  
"Just be careful of the blowjob queen," Dan had sneered nastily during a night out amongst friends. "A pretty face and an indiscriminately open mouth can get you in a lotta trouble, Reddy-boy."  
  
He was, of course, referring to Redd's years behind bars; that secretary, April May, had been at least partially to blame for that one. His face had tensed then, and Redd had rolled his eyes.   
  
"The boy is splendiferousaful!" he said, slightly tipsy, a mai tai in one hand, a little umbrella from a previous mai tai poked in amongst the curls of his lavender hair.   
  
As if summoned from across the room, Richard had appeared at Redd's side, flicking his blonde-streaked fringe out of the way and shooting Berlow a contempuous glare. He knew what Berlow thought of him. He knew, also, that it didn't matter.

  
Berlow had to admit, that, despite his very secure sense of heterosexuality, Richard Wellington _was_ attractive. Somehow managing to be striking and pretty at once, he had high angular cheekbones, a delicate body, and the face of an actor— and the ability to turn on and change his moods and expressions at will. Wellington looked like he could have been a model; that he would have been able to get by on being pretty alone— but beyond the ego he possessed a poisonous nastiness; Wellington was a skilled manipulator and used his talents well. Well, if you weren't the person on the receiving end of them.  
  
He also had the moodiness and the ego of a model-actor, a boy who knew his prettiness could open doors and wallets all too quickly and easily. Berlow had complained about it before— "That  _thing_  has an entitlement complex—" he'd snapped, though Redd had shot him a glare, and someone, Meekins, maybe— (yes, THAT Meekins, Redd liked having a police officer who just wanted to feel important onside, and Meekins had actually proven a valuable source of information)— had murmured something in sympathetic undertones about poor Richard Wellington having been homeless and selling his body as a teenager, and only Berlow hadn't believed them. To him, it was another of Wellington's lies, to everyone else, it was some kind of Hallmark sob story, and it allowed them to let Wellington behave as he wanted.  
  
"What did you just say to me?" Wellington hissed, knowing full well that he wasn't spoken to, but  _about_ , and knowing that the ringleader of the whole operation wouldn't stand by and let him be bad-mouthed.   
  
"I wasn't talking to you," Berlow said. He shot an equally poisonous glare at him, one which Redd White missed, but White certainly noticed the hurt, confused look on Wellington's face less than a second later.

  
That party, at Coconut Cabana— the gaudy, cheesy nightspot for Don Beach decor and the cheapest cocktails this side of town— was the beginning of the end for Dan Berlow. Only two people knew it at that time, though: and they'd left the party early, ready to put the plans for part two into action.

 

 

Investor Number Five sat opposite them in the secluded booth in Minty's pizza parlor.   
  
Minty's was the perfect place for this: in the weeks before, Redd White had assembled video cameras at the exit of the shop and waited like a trapdoor spider for the goods to come forth, and they had with abundance— poor food handling hygiene from various waitstaff, pissed off dishwashers bad-mouthing various public officials, occasional sexual trysts in the back alleyway which could have stirred up worlds of problems for the establishment if they'd become public knowledge. All Redd needed do was explain these sensitive scenarios to management, and they had top-notch service, the best quality food available, tip-offs from the waiters about what  _not_  to order, and as much privacy as they needed. All for the cheap price of ...absolutely nothing.  
  
Investor Number Five was a stately gentleman in his sixties; a retired CEO who was always looking for more assets to build up his portfolio, a savvy businessman who read the small print before signing on the dotted line, they knew he was going to be a hard sell.  
  
Which was why it wasn't just Redd White talking to him. Next to White, at the opposite side of the table, sat Wellington, waiting and anxious, desperate for the thrill of the chase to come to an end.  
  
"Who's  _that_?" asked the going-to-be investor. He glanced down at the contract on the table in front of him. He'd been well-fed, he'd enjoyed a bottle of the finest red, and he'd possibly had some extra chemical enhancement to add a sparkle to his evening which he was yet to be made aware of.   
  
"This is my associate, Wellington," Redd said beaming confidence.  
  
"Never heard of him."  
  
"His actions speak louder than his words," Redd continued, "He is a truly remarkable member of our team if I should say so."   
  
Richard smirked.   
  
"I must depart for a spell," Redd noted, standing up, "I've a requirement to utilise particular facilities in this establishment— and I hope you shall have read through the paperwork by then." He nodded to the investor in a grandiose fashion. "While I understand there is a lot to get through, please understand our predicamentation— an offer this good is snapped up far too quickly, and I shall hope to have your sponsorship by the time I return. Richard and I have business elsewhere."  
  
The man nodded, and looked down the papers.  
  
"Richard," Redd said offhandedly as he pushed his chair in, "Please make sure you take the most extraneolistic care possible of this gentleman."  
  
He smiled and gave a simple nod as Redd departed, and when Investor Number Five started perusing the final two pages of the contract, he cleared his throat and smirked again.   
  
The investor's eyes met Wellington's, but only for a moment; Wellington knew and understood that look all too well— he was transfixed with the beautiful, haughty creature seated opposite him.  
  
With a swift moment and a rustle of the tablecloth, he'd disappeared beneath it, ready to make the investor forget the fine print and sign anyway.

 

 

Everyone knew that Redd White was a hedonist, and that he'd only gotten worse since getting out of prison.   
  
Thankfully, a reduced sentence for good behaviour inside and the idea from the authorities that he was no threat to the community, it had been deemed that he as a suitable candidate for release.   
  
The moment he'd gotten out, his need for the finer things in life had just grown more intense; like he was making up for lost time and very few luxuries.  
  
No one  _knew_  for certain where the money had come from; some suspected some shifty inside work had allowed Redd to maintain his contacts and keep the money rolling in to a well-hidden bank account— but when Redd returned to the breathing world, he was back in that whirlwind lifestyle; fast cars and good wine, expensive artwork and fine dining, girls, boys, cocaine and glamour.   
  
Of course this had been seductive to the student, as he'd introduced himself to Redd.  
  
"A student of what, exactly, dear boy?" Redd had asked. The  _dear boy_  in his voice was most pronounced, his eyes had been careful and appraising; and Wellington's had shone back at him, instantly seduced by the older man. Of course he'd heard of Redd White and the murder trial; Wellington, as a well-educated man of all trades kept an eye on the news and the legal world— it was how he stayed ahead.   
  
"A student of _life_ ," he'd replied. "Though I'm also at a  _very_  prestigious university."  
  
"Would you like a little extra-curricular education?"   
  
Wellington had narrowed his eyes and licked his bottom lip, tilting his head slightly so the light caught him at an angle that he new was flattering.  
  
"Of  _course_ ," he'd said. "Assuming I'm able to find someone who can teach me anything  _worthwhile_."   
  
Redd, generous, kind and mentorly, ran his gaze down the trim body in front of him.   
  
"I'm sure I'd be able to do that," he said with a smirk. "With the utmost in  _pleasure_."

 

 

When they flew out, the sky was grey. Clouds threatened what should have been a beautiful sunrise, and the pair were still nervous with pre-flight jitters. This was always a delicate part of the operation, when someone in the know could get jealous or tense and pull the rug from beneath them.   
  
Redd knew he would only feel secure once he was behind the locked door of a hotel suite. He'd organised the bookings; requested the bells and whistles in the hotel room— the last few weeks had been stressful and busy— with all the negotiations and getting things signed and sorted, mentally positioning his army and his business facade, and making sure the whole thing could run efficiently for a significant amount of time— plenty of time for him to invest in other projects while everything turned to smoke— he'd had very little time to sleep, let alone enjoy the finer things in life.   
  
He slept on the plane, his guard finally down after they'd left the country, a few high-end cocktails and Xanax coursing through his system finally allowing him respite. Wellington had already fallen asleep, his usually distant and only slightly suspect affect dropping completely, as his head rested on Redd's shoulder and he snored quietly. People had looked at them before, but they might have seen a young up-and-coming rock star and his eccentric manager; Wellington was always savvy enough to maintain an air of mystery— maybe he  _was_  the old man's toy boy, but maybe he  _wasn't_. But now, to anyone who would have noticed, they weren't just in a professional arrangement; fatigue and alcohol had brought down Wellington's usually well-constructed barriers.  
  
The past few days had been intense for him, too, and everything about him looked haggard and...  _dry_. Redd had brushed that badly-dyed yellow curl from his face, watching him breathe, listening to the light snores, and smiled to himself at the thought of the hotel room awaiting them.

 

It had smelt like vanilla and blue flowers, Wellington noticed when they stepped into the honeymoon suite.  
  
Of  _course_  he'd only booked out the most expensive room in the place, of course he'd requested that the spa bath in the central area be filled to the brim and waiting, of course there was the mysterious bowl of white powder waiting on the glass coffee table like some sort of decoration— but Wellington knew better. Redd dazzled and fascinated people, and this easily included hospitality industry workers, some of whom seemed to be  _very_  well connected. He smirked at the bowl of cocaine and remembered that time when the older man had pushed his fringe out of his eyes, and said in a low growl, "Some time soon, I'm going to  _have_  to do lines off those simply  _perfect_  little thighs of yours..."  
  
It was interesting, really— for a man as committed to the good things in life as Redd White was, he was also incredibly controlled. As well as he did pleasure, he did business, and it was probably only due to this that he'd managed to slip under the legal radars for so long. Part of this, of course, was ascertaining people's uses and talents and then exploiting them to the hilt.  
  
Seducing Wellington had been simply a matter of showing up. But Wellington had rather enthusiastically proven he had particular talents which could be harnessed and utilised, and the two had made a formidable team.   
  
Redd himself had steered clear of Wellington's talents, however. It would have been mixing business with pleasure, and when you were tense and planning, you didn't have time to do that, hence the hotel room, a final reward for good business management and a scheme gone right. They'd both worked very hard for this.

  
  
But Wellington's major failing was that he believed himself to be smarter than he was. That arrogance made him beautiful and formidable, but it also made him easy to manipulate. Wellington had also grown dangerously close to White, too, which bothered the older man. Give them some ego, make them feel a little  _too_  important, and they start thinking they own you. And then, they start getting jealous of others.   
  
That was a concern which could be dealt with later, he reasoned, watching the younger man place his bags on the table next to the bowl of white powder. He always seemed to carry an enormous amount of  _stuff_  with him— "University stuff," he'd said— apparently the snappy little fashionista fancied himself as a photographer, too. Redd never asked too many questions: this was business, of course, not personal.   
  
He watched as the younger man took in the sight of filled, steaming hot tub, and removed his glasses.   
  
"Yes," he said, throwing a couple of suitcases on the oversized bed on the other side of the room, "You really  _ought_  to have a soak— it's been a long flight afterall."  
  
"It's been a long  _week_ ," Wellington said darkly, unbuttoning his jacket and carefully removing it. He turned around, watching Redd watching him, a sly smile gracing his lips as he watched the younger man undress. That was something Redd could appreciate— Wellington had no sense of shame about that perfect little body of his and the enjoyment it was capable of providing. In a way, they were cut from the same cloth, but Wellington was less dignified and more carnal: Redd could never imagine trying to persuade people to do things with  _sex_. But what the boy lacked in experience and vocabularitastic fantasticity, he certainly could provide with other parts.   
  
Redd watched as he slipped his pants off, revealing thin, taut legs and perfectly rounded buttocks. He dropped one of the cases at the foot of the bed, oblivious to it popping open and the green rustle of money bursting forth. He watched as Wellington daintily stepped into the hot tub, that perfect body now obscured by the fizz of the spa jets.

 

"You should join me in here," Wellington said coyly. "It's certainly spacious enough." As if to demonstrate the point, he stretched out, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, deep in relaxation. "You deserve to indulge yourself, Mr. White."   
  
He heard the other man's footsteps change— Redd had removed his shoes and was padding across the hotel room with bare feet, casually shedding clothing. "That  _was_  the plan after all."   
  
He sat on the bench next to Richard, the look on his face suggesting that he was trying to work out where to move next with his young associate. But upon hearing him enter the water, Richard opened one eye, and drifted over to the bench Redd was seated on, eager and interested.  
  
Redd wasn't going to make the first move; he worried that as a man of  _image_ , it would look desperate to be chasing after pretty young things; sleazy, like he was some kind of dirty old man. But with Richard, he didn't need to do any chasing; money and charisma and still intact good looks were reason enough for Wellington to sidle up next to him, an arm snaking around his neck. He'd always been demonstrative in private, that one— Redd had seen the camera footage of Wellington offering extra incentives to hesitant investors. The tapes served as potential blackmail, particularly when the investors had lives which seemed at odds with enjoying being sucked off under a pizza parlor table by a pretty boy.   
  
In public, he was cool and aloof and arrogant. But alone, like this, both their guards dropped. They could be themselves here, just two hedonists enjoying the finer things in life and one another's company and bodies.   
  
"This is extremely pleasant," Richard said, "It reminds me of when I was twelve and my parents took me to Europe and I saw..." His insignificant statement was halted by Redd, who'd turned to him, kissing him hungrily.  
  
With no need to talk now, Richard eagerly returned the kiss, before breaking away abruptly, a scandalous expression on his face, eyes darting towards the oversized bed.   
  
"Maybe we should have taken the spa  _afterwards_ ," Redd said with a knowing smirk. "I didn't imagine you'd be so eager following such a long flight."  
  
"For you?" Richard wheedled. "Always."  
  
"There hasn't even been a  _once_ , yet, Richard," Redd said with a slight smirk. "Though... if you insist..." His body was screaming disagreement to the coolness he was trying to project; even under the bubbling water he could feel his cock twitching with interest and there was a ravenous glimmer in his eyes which he wasn't making any attempt to hide.  
  
Richard wanted to play it cool, but youthful impatience took over. "I'll wait on the bed," he said casually, stepping out of the tub slowly, once again enjoying the look on Redd's face as he watched him emerge from the water. He flicked his hair back, his long golden streak damp with steam and water for the tub, and he shot a come-hither look at the older man who looked conflicted— like he was caught between maintaining a cool facade and taking his time and wanting to run up behind him and slam him into the bed.   
  
He didn't move from the hot tub instantly. He lay back, stretching his arms behind him as he watched Richard cross the room, retrieving his glasses from the table, before plopping himself down on the bed.  
  
"We have a lot of money here," he called out in sing-sing, noticing the notes scattered on top of the covers. He jumped onto bed and lay on his front, legs bent at the knees up behind him, picking up notes at random. "You need to get yourself a nice trustworthy accountant, Mr. White," he teased. "Someonen who can look good and keep your books in order and all _this_ organised... and keep your secrets for you." He batted his eyelashes, but Redd didn't move, relaxing in the warm water, watching Wellington with sheer, unadulterated amusement. Cocky little shit. 

  
He was a people-reader, plain and simple, and he knew that Richard _wanted_ him to want him— and he knew that all he had to do was play aloof and he'd get the most out of his associate— he'd wind him up into a frenzy  _before_  anything happened.  
  
He smiled.   
  
Richard _had_ to want it, because if not... it could be walking into dangerous territory. He didn't need any more complications— but he could do with one less.   
  
"I know!  _I'll_  be your accountant!"   
  
"You're much better at human relations and being pretty," Redd said, in a cheerful, lighthearted manner that could have been a joke— or could have been a joke  _at Richard's expense_.  
  
The younger man ignored the comment, but allowed himself to glance towards the window, his face tilted away from Redd's gaze.  
  
He knew Redd was good at reading people.  
  
Good at understimating them, too.

 

"You mean I'm much better at sucking cock." There was a subtle intensity to his words. " _That's_ what you mean, don't you, Redd?"  
  
Redd chuckled to himself from the spa, still eyeing his younger accomplice on the bed. "I don't know  _personally_ ," he said. "Though I believe your talents in a number of areas are widely known."  
  
"Why don't you come on over here and find out?"   
  
That, combined with the way Richard had shifted himself on the bed, rolling over onto his back and staring up at the ceiling, that taut body already coming to life with sexual interest— was enough for White. He couldn't hide the rush in his step as he moved towards the bed, the urgency and the speed and the sheer pent up  _want_  which had been bothering him for months.  
  


He'd seen the videos and knew all too well about the way Richard operated. He wanted comfort and decadence over urgency, though, he wanted to take his time with him; it would be the first and last time for them, and he planned to enjoy himself. For some reason he couldn't quite explain, he wanted the pretty little slut on the bed in front of him to  _remember_  him. Richard slept with people indiscriminately; but he, Redd White— wasn't just  _anyone_. He was an  _experience_ , and he planned to make sure Wellington remembered that.  
  
He climbed onto the bed, the smirk still on his lips as he watched Wellinton idly playing with a couple of notes which had popped out of the case.  
  
"You love it, don't you?" he asked.  
  
There was no mistaking the look on the younger man's face. " _Yes_."  
  
"There's plenty more where that came from."   
  
Reaching over across Richard's taut, naked body, he retrieved another of the cases and popped it open, turning it upside down and showering him with the soft, worn rustle of the notes.   
  
Laughing, Richard reached up, pulling Redd into an embrace, grabbing his neck possessively, alive and relaxed and in a state of bliss.   
  
Redd broke away. "You look simply  _stunning_  like that," he said. And he did. There was an almost displaced sadness in the back of his mind, thinking about how futile and not permanent this situation was going to be; this, however, only made the resolve to enjoy it and make it memorable much more intense.  
  
"I know." Rolling around on the mattress, the green notes sticking to his dampened skin, Richard knew he looked good. And the smell and texture of the money against him was amazing, too: it was probably a fetish few people were able to indulge in. Which made it all the more exclusive and special and...  
  
"I think I love you," he chuckled as Redd casually opened another brief case. "All my life I've looked for someone who was an equal in terms of wit and style and gorgeousness, and now I've found him." He chuckled again, before pulling Redd closer as another cascade of money showered over him. "Let's take on the world together."  
  
"I want to do something else, first," Redd said slyly.  
  
He knew where Richard's talents lay, but desperation for release had overtaken him. He crushed himself against the other man, his lips pressed against his, soft yet tight, violent yet lustful.   
  
Richard moaned softly under the kiss, and felt himself harden as Redd's hands travelled down his body. With the sense of arousal came the sense of  _power_ , as always— he'd reduced the suave, cool businessman to  _this_. Soon Redd would be nothing but shuddering and gibberish— and it was all his doing.   
  
Strong hands gripped him possessively, legs were entangled around one another, there was skin on skin and the inimitable smell of money in the air.  
  
"I want you," he murmured as Redd crushed against him for another kiss.

"I know you want me, too," he said, batting those too-long-to-be-real eyelashes, "I'm the Sidekick Bido to the Steel Samurai, the Bonnie to your Clyde... the Ganymede... to your Zeus." He opened his mouth, trailling a fingertip down his bottom lip. " _Aren't_  I?" he asked seductively.  
  
"Mmmm." Redd had a very contented smile on his face. "We can talk afterwards, Richard," he said warmly, trying to hide his urgency and appear in control. Notes remained stuck to Richard's skin and Redd brushed them away, as though they were an irritation. He reached across the bed and over the younger man, finding a small bottle on the bedside table. Smoothing some of the liquid from it onto his hands, he rubbed them down his back, thrilled with the twitching, pale muscles beneath his fingertips.  
  
Leaning over the top of him, he breathed into an ear. "I want to fuck you," he said in a low, breathy whisper. "I want to feel you underneath me, having the time of your life..."  
  
"I want you to talk to me," Richard said coyly, aware of his erection pressed hard into the mattress, "I want you to tell me all of the brilliant things you've done and you're doing, Redd..."  
  
Redd's hands moved lower, massaging the oil into Richard's skin, smoothing down taut and willing muscles, and curving flirtatiously between his arse. "I'll  _talk_  to you," he said with a slight chuckle, as the younger man tilted his hips upwards. "Tell you about all my brilliantificous work..." His other arm was draped over Richard's shoulder, casually toying with his lips, thumb flicking the bottom on a though he was lazily strumming a guitar.

"That sounds... like  _fun_." Richard's response was to open his mouth slightly, to allow something between a gasp and a moan to escape. he stretched slightly, craning his neck to take his mentor's index and middle fingers in his mouth, sucking on them greedily, as though offering a euphemism for what others had experienced.  
  
"God," Redd murmured. "You're insatiable." He slipped his  _other_  index finger, slicked with oil, between the soft mounds of his arse, smiling when his protege murmured before replying.   
  
"I know," breathed Richard, "You don't need to tell me that. Tell me a story, though, Redd... tell me how you've ended up here..." He gasped as the pressure from Redd's finger increased, pushing at him, taunting him. "I want to  _hear_  your magnificence while...  _feeling_  it..." There was a whine in his voice, a pleading.   
  
"Very well then," Redd said with a smirk. There wasn't much that was more arousing them having a willing, wanton young body underneath him, particularly when it was as beautiful as Richard's— though being able to revel in his own narcissism came close. Richard had inadvertantly combined the two, and as he dripped some more oil casually down the small of his back, Redd felt a twinge of guilt at the idea of what would follow this escapade. Maybe Richard was right, and they really were two of a kind.  
  
"Of course," Redd started, as he gently prodded at Richard's entrance, slowly, carefully— "The plan for this particular  _project_  began when I was still in prison..." He moved back and forth carefully, as though testing the waters, aware of Richard's speeding pulse and his tongue caressing his other hand, the warmth of his mouth and the tantalising movement, "I'm heavily indebted to the inherent corruption of the good men and women who work at Lawndale Correctional..." He pushed his finger in a bit deeper now, eliciting a soft moan from Richard. "They were the lovely people who helped me get the ball rolling..."

"Speak up," Richard urged, thrusting himself against Redd's finger, "Tell me more..." His breaths were heavy and fast, his body sticky with sweat now, as well as the oil and the water from the spa. "Tell me what happened after that."   
  
Maybe he was distracting himself, trying to delay the rush of orgasm, maybe it was a way of taking his mind off what was really happening. Either way, Redd didn't seem to notice, and wasn't adverse to sharing the rest of his story.  
  
"And  _then_ ," he continued, still moving in-and-out of Richard at the same steady pace, "I was transferred... to minimum security. My lawyers argued that I was a model prisoner— and of course, I  _was—_  and that I posed a significantly low risk of reoffending or being a danger to the community given that the murder was primarily motivated by exceptional circumstances relating to the management of my business..."  
  
He moved his other hand away from Richard's mouth, and ran it down the other man's back. Richard moaned again, his pace increasing slightly. Evidently the younger man shared Redd's hedonistic tendencies and wanted to make this last as long as possible, too. Once again, Redd found himself wondering if he'd written him off a bit too quickly.  
  
"More," he said in a rasp. " _More_..."   
  
Redd wasn't sure if he meant more of the story or more of anything else. But... he'd get that later on.  _Much_  more, he thought with a smirk as he smoothed some more oil onto his free hand.   
  
"I made contacts," he said. "I was smart— there were enough corrupt officials in the system and being a man of intelligence and very good  _EQ_ , I was able to detect who they were easily enough." He chuckled to himself as Richard twitched beneath him. "I kept myself a little dossier; names, positions, addresses, secrets... people are  _so_  easy to figure out, my dear... all on my trusty laptop now— I know all their secrets...  _People_ ," he ended with, on a sneer.  
  
"I know," Richard said with a smirk and a slight gasp, "You've figured out what  _I_  want well enough, haven't you?"  
  
Redd chuckled to himself, pushing into Wellington a little more insistently now. "Admittedly, you've been quite easy, Wellington," he said arrogantly, "I knew from the moment I saw you that you were an absolute  _slut_."  
  
Richard chuckled to himself. "Well done," he said coyly, not sounding at all offended. He paused dramatically, flicking his neck back and the fringe out of his eyes. "Continue, Redd," he said. "I'm most  _certainly_  not satisfied yet."  
  
"Well," Redd said, "I started looking into a business plan... something that... ahhh—" a second finger slipped alongside the first, and Redd was interrupted for a moment, temporarily lost for a moment as he tried to imagine what it would be like actually  _fucking_  Wellington— "Something that would be benign enough to not draw attention, and where I could utilise my previous skills..." He trailled off, and his other hand reached under Richard's chest, casually tweaking at a nipple as the other man gasped, surprised. "And...  _then_..." he said, breaths short and rasping now, "I got some of the old team on board— Berlow, Mason, Gregor, Lyles..."  
  
"Urgh..." Richard thrust back against him. "Godyou'regood," he mumbled, loudly and insistently. He moved upwards, resting on his hands, leaving absolutely no question to Redd as to what he was wanting as the older man's fingers slipped back into him.   
  
For some reason, this got at Redd; was it his story, his clever handiwork, or his ability with his fingers— that was having this result? Either way, Richard's response was encouragement.  
  
"Of course," he said, trying to keep his voice even, noticing the way there were still notes stuck to the back of Richard's thighs  _God that looks sexy— it's a pity no one's filming this—_  "I blackmailed  _them_ , too."   
  
"I know you did," Richard said with a sly smirk. "I think I had something to do with that—"

"That was around about the time you came into the picture."   
  
Richard pushed back insistently, greedily— Redd wondered if he was enjoying hearing about himself, and decided, being the fantabulous people-reader he was, that he'd indulge him. "Easy, now," he cautioned, removing his hand and ignoring the pathetic whine from Richard, "I'm planning on  _enjoying_  you..." He found the bottle of oil again, and emptied it onto Richard's back, watching him, realising what was happening, tilt himself on an angle, giving Redd a perfect view of the oil running down the curve of his back, in little rivulet between his arse and over...  
  
Redd gasped. If he'd known this one was such a show pony, they probably could have done a _lot_ more with him.   
  
"I remember when I met you," he murmured, leaning over Richard again, huskily whispering in his ear, his fingers casually following the trail of the oil down his back, and nestling at his entrance once more. "You were in a park and you told me you'd been away for awhile and just returned and that you were wondering what had happened to some of your old business associates..."  
  
"I couldn't believe it was you," Richard murmured as Redd's fingers brushed against him, teasing him once more.   
  
"And I'll admit, I was momentarily smitten with such a gorgeous thing looking at me as though I was close to godlike," Redd bragged. "I simply  _had_  to talk to you. You told me you were returning to university from a leave of absence, and you smiled at me in a way that just made me  _know_  we were going to be wonderful business partners."  
  
A fingertip lightly penetrated him, and was quickly joined by a second rubbing against it, pushing into him, the oil seemingly offering the promise of something more. Richard moaned again, as Redd chuckled to himself. "How long was it before we got you working on the clients?" he asked.  
  
"A couple of weeks, I think," Richard murmured, pushing back against Redd's frustratingly conservative hand, "Two or three, maybe..."   
  
Redd chuckled. "You're so unsubtle," he sniffed, "But if you insist..." He pushed a third finger into Richard, who thrust back against him, frustrated, wanting...   
  
Leaning over him again, and whispering into his ear, Redd sounded incredibly in control of the situation, his voice heavy with lust and want.   
  
"You know," Richard whined, "You could do something else with that other hand..."  
  
Redd chuckled. "You have absolutely no shame," he said. "It's what I love about you."  
  
"You don't, either," Richard murmured as Redd's other hand shifted to his cock and began stroking; still irritatingly yet tantalisingly slowly, the movement in sync with the gradually deepening thrusts into him. "Tell me more..."  
  
"That was around the time we started selecting investors," he continued, an even pace along with his movement, "We specifically selected people who would be susceptible to blackmail after that first one..."  
  
"The...  _first one_?" Richard asked, slightly taken by surprise at a slight variation in movement from Redd.   
  
"Investor Number One was a  _very_  conservative politician. And a deeply religious, married man. It would been the end of him if word got out that he enjoyed your talents, Richard."  
  
"I never knew that," Richard said sharply, surprised.  
  
"I never told you," Redd said, his hand gravitating away from Richard's cock and moving up his neck to appreciate the muscles and skin up there— "I never tell  _anyone_  everything, Richard— it's a way of maintaining control of a situation."  
  
"I know," Richard said idly, irritated at the movement away from his throbbing member. He was tempted to just change position and take control of the situation, finish it up, end this tantalising torment— but he couldn't. 

"And  _that_ ," said Richard, "Was when I started sowing the seeds of doubt amongst the dead wood."   
  
Richard twisted around, pushing himself back into Redd's hands. He hadn't known that, but this was what he was doing: making a guarded, powerful man with a very tough social veneer— drop it. He'd gained a few other useful tidbits from Redd's bragging as well.   
  
"God, you're a filthy little slut," Redd sneered as he felt the thrusts becoming more powerful and Richard's warm, undulating muscles are his fingertips. "Are you  _ever_ satisfied?"   
  
Richard pushed up against him urgently. "I might be when you fuck me," he said with a pout. "And... tell me _more_..."  
  
A hand came down on him then, a hard, very oily slap which stung with an angry red ferocity. Richard whined, and turned around to look Redd in the eye. "Kinky," he murmured. "Investor Number Six liked that..."  
  
"That's for the cheek," Redd said, half playful, half warning. "No one makes demands of me."  
  
And Richard murmured something under his breath at that moment which was, to a panting Redd, somewhat inaudible.  
  
The problem was that the demand was one Redd wanted to succumb to, but this little wretch needed to know his place, even in the final moments of their time together. God, he was good— good  _fun_ , too, and he looked good and felt good and made the right bodily responses and noises and...   
  
If he wanted to be fucked so badly,  _fine_. Why deny a young hedonist his desires? Give the sentenced man his final meal and all...  
  
He removed his fingers abruptly, garnering a whimper from Richard— most likely from the shock— before he placed his damp slick cock at the younger man's entrance.   
  
"Oooh... mmmm...." Richard twisted contentedly, like a cat rubbing up against someone's legs. "Do it," he said huskily. "And keep talking to me."

 

Redd White wasn't someone you ordered around, and Richards's doing so was more than just merely irritating— it was disturbing the natural order of balance between them— the order which meant that he, Redd White— had the upper hand.   
  
No more of this coy pussy-footing around— he thrust into Wellington with no warning, a gasp of shock coming from the younger man, a hiss through clenched teeth. At least, for the moment, it was silence and stillness.   
  
But then came the equally quick, and unexpected sense of Richard pushing back against  _him_ , still wanton, still a slut, still entirely insatiable. Beautiful as it was— was there  _nothing_  that would shock this one?  
  
In the back of his mind was the snide sense that he always had, and always  _would have_  the upper hand— maybe the final blow, so to speak, would be proof of that rather than this activity. Here he could lull Richard into a sense that everything was fine, that his protege was running the show with his depraved and hungry body— when in fact...  
  
"Ugggh..." There was no complaint from Redd however; Richard was a seasoned professional at this. And no matter how many others he'd had, he would damn well remember this, too. He thrust into him again violently, pushing him forwards, as Wellington bit his bottom lip, bracing himself. Maybe he was used to taking it up the arse, but  _this—_  Redd's sheer  _power_  and  _stamina_  wasn't what he was used to.  
  
But Wellington only moaned lightly, his breath coming out in short bursts. "Fuck!" he gasped.   
  
Redd chuckled slightly. "You like this, don't you?" he growled, thrusting into him again, his other hand making its way back to Richard's mouth— he seemed an expert when it came to the little touches, too— it had been quite the treat feeling him suckling on his fingers— to which Richard acquiesed.  
  
"God," Richard gasped again, his warm mouth taking in Redd's fingers, "Tell me the rest..."  
  
It was unavoidable. There was no getting around it; in a non-intoxicated state, Redd wouldn't have said a word, merely chuckled and run a hand through Richard's hair, telling him that he was pretty and that was all that mattered, but his vulnerability and eagerness— and blind narcissism— was all too much. He truly was king of the hill right now, and nothing— or no one— could bring him down or get in his way...  
  
"I turned them against one another," he said. "They're technically the ones running the company, and...  _ugggh_ "— another swift, deep thrust into Richard's shuddering body— "when the police start realising something's amiss, they're all going to be fighting it out trying to pin the blame on themselves. Of course I invested in a recruitment agency— with  _my_  actual money, which is where most of the staff came from in the first place..." His breathing was speeding up with his pacing. It was like he really  _had_  to tell his story, he needed that release— just like he needed to...  
  
Richard could feel his strokes getting quicker and deeper, and found himself wondering just how much more he was going to get. Drenched in sweat and oil, with a few persistent notes still stuck to him, he was barely aware of what was happening anymore. All he knew was that Redd  _was_  just as good as he thought he was... which was refreshing. All too often men didn't appreciate what they had with him, they didn't know the meaning of a quality performance, they couldn't truly let go and enjoy themselves and...

He slowed as he felt that first telltale sign of the end approaching. Slackening his pace, and opening his eyes, he nuzzled against Richard's fingers, affectionate and playful rather than seductive and— hadn't Richard called him one earlier?—  _sluttish_. He still didn't know whether his mentor has been taunting him with that comment. He was stretching this out; he'd make Redd remember this, show him just how neccessary and important he really was...  
  
"Getting tired, are you?" Redd asked. And he sounded so  _smug_  about it, too.  
  
"No," breathed Richard, steadying himself... "I can take... more..."  
  
He could feel Redd, muscles and sweat and a surprisingly fit— and nice-to-look at body for a man of his age— on top of him, he could hear the soft slaps of skin meeting skin as they broke against one another, waves on a shoreline of thheir own making, each pushing out a little further than the last.   
  
"What about the investors?" Richard asked in choppy breaths. "Won't they want their returns?"  
  
"Ponzi scheme, my cunning little..." Redd's voice crackled off, the energy between them providing far too much interference. "Of course they're getting their money back, the genius is that they're just not paying for anything and yet they're still buying shares..." He gasped, heading towards orgasm, and thrust into Richard once more.  
  
The younger man knew what to expect. He'd always found someone else's orgasm— the fact that  _he_  could work powerful, intelligent and cunning people— into this sort of state— arousing— and the moment he felt that indescribable fullness, the sticky warmth inside him, and the brief electrocuted shock of Redd twitching on top of him, he came with a quiet whimper, and collapsed against the mattress.  
  
  
They lay there for a while, in a mess of sweat and pool water, the faint smell of chlorine all but hidden behind the overpowering odor of scented massage oil, money, and sex. Richard wasn't adverse to the latter— there was an incredible sense of power in knowing you could make someone do that, get that response from another's body. Particularly when they were a conservative politician or a larger-than-life crooked businessman who no one would suspect enjoyed these sorts of things...

He rolled over, his body spent and tired and feeling as flaccid and drained as his cock.   
  
"Enjoy yourself?" he asked coyly, half-draped over Redd's spent body, trailing a finger down the older man's face, past his chin, down his chest...   
  
Redd mumbled with a contented sort of approval, and remained lying there, on his back, an arm casually draped over Richard.  
  
"You know," Richard murmured, "I think I was right in my earlier assessment of our situation..."  
  
"Which was?" the older man asked. His voice was languid and relaxed, smug and content. "I feel a siesta might be a good plan for the moment, then maybe we can have some fun with the little present awaiting us on the table over there... because I'm  _sure_  an insatiable whore like yourself will want to suck me off afterwards... pity you missed your chance this afternoon..." He idly trailed his fingers through Richard's hair, playing with the blonde streak with a smirk of amusement. "Was  _that_  what you were going to suggest, my dear?"  
  
Richard sighed unhappily. "I was thinking more along the lines of when I said that I felt as though I'd found something special in you... an equal." As if to demonstrate depth of feeling, he snuggled up to Redd, and planted a moist, tired kiss over his still-erect nipple. "What do you say, Mr. White?"  
  
  
White laughed. A cruel, casual laugh. 

"Don't try the comedy routine, Wellington," he snorted. "Everyone knows where  _your_  talents lie." He reached down and placed a hand between Wellington's legs; not at all in a sensual or arousing fashion, but more like he was marking out territory on a map. "Don't overestimate yourself, Richard... know where your skills are and  _exploit_  them."  
  
There was such condescending arrogance in his voice that it made Richard freeze. All through this escapade, he'd been the ultimate player, he'd dazzled people— and he'd, at the same time, been seduced and dazzled by Redd White. It had been unavoidable.   
  
And now...   
  
"Are you telling me that I don't mean  _anything_  to you?" he asked. Unable to keep himself at one volume and pitch, his voice grew louder and higher, more out of control and frantic.   
  
"But..."  
  
Redd chuckled. "If you must know, my  _dear_ , you seemed a bit  _too_  good at what you were doing." He looked over Richard as though assessing him. "Of course, you're very pretty—  _very_  pretty— but... you lack the trait of the  _exotic_  which I so enjoy."  
  
"What do you mean?" hissed Richard.  
  
"What I mean is..." Redd let out a debonair laugh. "I should call you Everest," he said lightly, ignoring the look of hot betrayal on his protege's face. "I mean, so many people have been up there that it's really not a unique and memorable experience after awhile, is it? Fun as it may be at the time." 

  
Suddenly, Richard felt  _very_  awake. A hotness stung his cheeks, humiliation and disgust. And... now that he thought about it, betrayal. And there was the irony: he now knew what it must have been like to have been one of those men he whored himself to in order to get people signing over their millions to Redd White— only this was worse. They'd used him as a body they'd gotten what they'd paid for. He'd given Redd something else... and lost.  
  
"Excuse me," he said quietly, stepping off the bed and padding through to the shower.  
  
While he showered, Redd White slept lightly on the bed. He'd filled his need for some mindless pleasure, and he'd cut some more dead wood from the team. His mercy to Richard, his thanks for a good— no— _excellent_ — fuck— was that he was letting him go, hoping that the younger man's arrogance and pride would cause him to keep his mouth shut.  
  
 _"A pretty face and an indiscriminately open mouth can get you in a lotta trouble, Reddy-boy."—_  Dan Berlow had warned him of that, but who was Dan Berlow? Awaiting trial for things he didn't even know about, and certainly not getting busy with a hot little piece of arse like Wellington... He rolled over, contented, wondering if the pretty boy could be convinced to hang around for a bit while he stayed in the hotel; perhaps they could do some lines, have some more mind-blowing sex, and then Wellington could go his own way— amicably— when Redd was headed overseas...  
  
He heard footsteps pad out of the shower, and noticed a glistening and naked Wellington slink across the room. Reaching into the bag on the table, he pulled out a shirt and some slacks, and pulled them on. Redd watched carefully— Wellington seemed overly casual— or frantic— he wasn't sure which. Then again, he was on holiday— casual was understandable.   
  
"Come back to bed," he said lazily. "Let me find out what the others meant when they said you knew what you were doing sucking cock..." There was a sneer in his voice.   
  
And that was when Richard found himself adopting a new persona, riding on the arrogance and underhanded sneakiness of his former mentor, Redd White. A low, nasty chuckle emerged from him, no longer coy and cute, and he fluttered his all-too-long eyelashes in a menacing fashion. It was like he'd put his own spin on brilliance... Redd had taken him so far... but he was able to go further.   
  
Redd's failing had been his arrogance. Redd's failing had been underestimating people. Well, one person:  _Richard Wellington_.

 

He laughed again, and in a manner which was enough to make Redd sit up, idle bliss suddenly forgotten. There was a brutal savagery to his laugh now, the coy, cute flirtatious note had disappeared now; it was a faded memory.  
  
"Come on, you dirty little whore." His eyes sparkled warmly. Richard glared at him with contempt and snorted.  
  
"I wouldn't talk to me like that if I were you," he said sharply. He reached for the bags on the table, looked down into one, and stuck his hand into it.   
  
"You know, I wouldn't be doing any of this had your attitude towards me been anything more than... that I was  _like everyone else_." He smiled as he touched something in the bag, and looked back at Redd.  
  
"I thought we were going places," Richard sniffed. "I thought my business with those investors you pimped me out to was going to help us make a life together.  _Take on the world_ ," I remember one of us referring to it as..." He trailled off thoughtfully, kicking a shoe on, and looking over at the spa longingly. "It's a pity we didn't spend more time in there," he said, "But... you underestimated me, Mr. White." His voice was cold now, almost robotic, like he couldn't believe what he was saying.  
  
Redd chuckled, an old-man laugh, the sort of noise which would put you at ease and make you sit down and be reasonable. "Come back to bed, Richard," he said, "You're wearing too many clothes right now..."  
  
"And that's all I'll ever be to you, won't it?"  
  
Redd blinked. Just  _what_  did Wellington  _think_  he was?  
  
"But... surely you  _enjoyed_  it?" he asked.  
  
"I did," Richard said. "If I'd had a problem with the  _sex_ , I'd have mentioned it then..." He looked over at the suitcases by the bed, and walked over to the one which remained shut, picking it up by the handle as though testing its weight.   
  
"...My problem was with your attitude towards me." Deciding to take the case with him, he walked back over to the table to where his own things were.  
  
"I didn't want to do this, Redd, but... just like you, I've had to employ contingency plans. As you said awhile ago, people aren't to be trusted." He batted his eyelashes again. "But, as you also said, their weaknesses  _can_  be exploited... as can their ...less than dignified moments."  
  
"Richard— whatever are you saying? You're talking nonsense..."

"Had I not been just a  _slut_  to you— or had I been at least a curiousity you were at least uncertain about, I would have destroyed the videos a fortnight from now."   
  
" _Videos_?"  
  
"Remember when you told me you'd filmed my work with the investors?"   
  
" _Yes_." Richard chuckled. "Some of those videos provided me with a lot of amus—"  
  
" _Quiet_. I'm simply  _uninterested_  now, Mr. White." He tossed his head upwards, the damp curl by his side bouncing up and down in contempt.   
  
Reaching into one of his bags— the innocuous bag of "photography stuff"— he slowly lifted out part of a small camera. "...Let's just say I've been compiling my own little collection of memories myself."  
  
He smirked at Redd, bags of "photography stuff for uni," expensive clothes, and one of the suitcases of money— slung over his shoulders or in his hands.  
  
Richard lay naked on the bed, suddenly slackjawed with horror.  _Blackmail_. He'd been beaten at his own game.  
  
"And... since I doubt you're going to see me off at the airport in that state, Redd— I will bid you farewell and wish you nothing but the warmest and  _kindest_  in the future." He sniffed again— maybe he was putting on a brave face, maybe he was being sarcastic. In his shock, Redd couldn't tell.  
  
"And may you find someone half as good in bed as  _me_ , you arrogant son-of-a-bitch."  
  
"Wellin—" Redd started standing up, but his young protege— his traitor— what could potentially be the undoing of him— was already by the door. "Rich—"  
  
"Make any attempt to contact me, hurt me, or otherwise inflict any more damage on my existence than you already have, Redd, and that videotape, all your beautiful confessions— and that lovely little list I retrieved from your computer last week and always wondered about— will be going straight to the FBI."  
  
He looked ahead of him, deliberately away from Redd— as he opened the door. Looking back at Redd would let the older man see the tears welling in his eyes, and he knew he only had moments before the crack of defeat came into his voice and damned him.   
  
"Goodbye, Mr. White," he said quietly as he stepped out of the room.


End file.
